


to restore balance

by Elzie (gallaxygay)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (just for a bit lol), Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Infinity Gems, Mentioned May Parker (Spider-Man), Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallaxygay/pseuds/Elzie
Summary: the universe balances and rebalances every once in a while. when tony stark dies, it throws the world into such heady chaos that the universe decides, perhaps just once, that instead of rebalancing - instead of finding a new tony stark, a new person to fill the void in the world - it will grant a re-do, just once.





	1. réessayer

Steve spends nearly the entire battle with half of his attention on Bucky. He doesn’t — it’s not like he wants to acknowledge the nearly obsessive fervour with which he checks over his friend, or the way that Bucky just being there is so distracting that Steve faintly worries for his own life — he doesn’t like admitting the fact that he’s only ever had eyes or attention for Bucky. It’s embarrassing, but when the apocalypse turns to dust, Steve’s already halfway to Bucky, hoping to god and to the rest of the heroes there that they won.

 

Bucky smiles, just for a moment, a glancing-sort-of smile. His eyes shift behind Steve and to his right, and Steve feels his stomach in his mouth.

 

A lot of emotion had been trained out of Bucky, Steve knows that. It was hard to understand and harder to learn to deal with at first. Buck — from before the war — was so vibrant, so casually intimate. He’d charm women with broad smiles and a hand on the small of their back and careful and kind pet names. Afterwards, well, Bucky only ever had eyes for Steve too. The affection and emotion were never easy, Bucky’s smiles more wary than anything, but the effort was there and Steve learnt to cherish it in the same way that he cherishes everything about Bucky.

 

Bucky’s eyes widen, fists clenching at his sides. And so Steve turns around, despite the feeling in his gut telling him that he probably doesn’t want to know — that things might be better if he walked into Bucky’s arms and never looked back.

 

(He doesn’t —leave and never look back—but if Steve’s honest he thinks about it for more than the split-second during which impulsive thoughts come and go.)

 

Tony is there, on the ground, and the object of all Bucky’s attention. Steve can smell burnt flesh in the air, half of Tony’s body is charred and blackened. And he’s smiling, sort-of, like he’s won. It’s disgusting and visceral and too-much. Steve lets his eyes wander on instinct.

 

For the first time in five years, Steve forgets about Bucky, and feels a very raw panic begin to build up inside. This isn’t what he wanted. This isn’t how anyone wanted to win.

 

Spider-man—who Steve is half-sure is Tony’s son—is begging and crying and pleading over Tony’s body. Steve feels sick, like he’s intruding on the worst moment of that poor boy’s life, and Pepper is there, and Steve can’t believe he almost killed Tony, all those years ago. Tony has a family, one that he likely pulled together with his own bare hands.

 

Rhodey pulls Spider-man off of Tony, and Spider-man is sobbing, pulling at his mask for air, squirming frantically. Steve remembers the battle at the airport, later learning that Spider-man had caught Bucky’s fist mid-swing. He knows, then, that grief has stricken the fight from the boy’s body, just as it has frozen everyone else in their bodies, unsure and uncomfortable and scared.

 

Steve supposes it doesn’t matter, secret identities and the like, anymore. Spider-man is young, has brown hair and brown eyes like Tony. He’s shaking like a leaf, trembling in Rhodey’s arms and so obviously yearning for his father.

 

The injustice of the situation is striking. Finally, Spider-man breaks free of Rhodey’s hold, strength barely contained in his small body — he’s vibrating. From experience, Steve can guess that the boy is having a hard time regulating his own strength with other, more important things to think about. It’s nerves. It’s fear. It’s too-too much.

 

Spider-man turns backwards, making eye contact with Steve. His face is streaked with blood and grime and dirt and determination and Steve sees something dangerous in his eyes. He’s too young. He’s far, _far_ , too young. Fifteen, maybe. Spider-man smiles, and it’s kind and contrite, before he gently but quickly reaches down towards Tony’s blackened hand, plucking out each of the stones — one by one. His hands are delicate and swift, the shaking from just a moment before is gone.

 

Pepper breathes out, “ _Peter.”_

 

_Peter._

 

It feels like the world stops. Then, the hold world holds its breath for the brief moment where he holds all of the infinity stones in his hands. Peter pulses with light, and the world stills completely with bated breath, waiting, waiting, waiting, hoping. Steve honestly doesn’t think he can watch a child die today. He feels reckless with abandon, just for a moment, and thinks about grabbing Peter’s hand and wrenching it wide open.

 

The military endeavours to train debilitating empathy and emotion from its soldiers. It gets in the way, which is just the unfortunate fact of the matter. Steve has continued on in spite of so, so many things. He continued on after losing Bucky, after losing Peggy, after losing everything he knew in life. Compartmentalizing is Steve’s speciality and he understands completely how to put the mission above everything else. Otherwise, if he couldn’t compartmentalize, Steve would have fallen apart thousands of time over again.

 

There isn’t really a mission anymore. There’s no reason to be above his own emotions. There’s no reason to compartmentalize. And it feels like there might never be any more missions ever again. And so Steve feels the full force of his emotions. He feels them and _agonizes._ Steve would sooner break Peter’s arm, take the stones out of his tiny hand by force, than watch as this small, doe-eyed little boy kill himself over his father. He won’t see more tragedy. He can’t see a family decimate itself.

 

Peter turns back around, eyes drifting towards his hands, and then upward, smiling at Steve. His irises pulse with that same light: blue, yellow, red, purple, green, orange, blue again. He’s serenely ethereal, glowing with power, hope. He turns his gaze towards Pepper, Rhodey, Dr. Strange, then Steve again. His gaze is full of kindness, dark brown eyes of sorrow and calculating consideration.

 

Pepper is crying, hopeful also. Hope permeates the air so thickly Steve feels like he can’t move, can’t breathe.

 

Strange had — he’d said that there was only ever one universe where they won. One shot. One try. Just one lucky, lucky draw. 

 

Then, “I think we’ll try again, okay?”

 

Steve nods, still not entirely comprehending the situation — not that it matters, because it stops being the present just shortly after Peter speaks. He stumbles. It’s dark outside. What’s happening?

 

His head jerks up as Tony comes stumbling out of a broken down alien spaceship, a blue woman following behind. He’s shaking, far too skinny, stricken and saying, “I lost — I lost the kid. I lost my kid.”

 

Steve blinks away the tears in his eyes.

 

A second chance.

 

He embraces Tony, breathes in deeply and whispers, “We’re gonna fix this.”


	2. ma puce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the airport, natasha learns to live again. she meets pete along the way.

Natasha, truly, tries her best not to meddle with Tony’s life — not after the airport battle. She’s sure that if she asked, and she has thought about asking, that he would welcome her back into his life with semi-open arms — but she knows that forcing Tony to pull himself together and try for something resembling put-together by walking back into his life would be both cruel and unnecessary. Her entire childhood was spent learning how to create put-togetherness out of nothing, and Natasha understands intimately how taxing it can be. Anyways, she has an apartment and enough money for at least fifteen years — thanks to Steve. 

 

She visits Clint once or twice a month.

 

His family is kind — almost too kind, really. Natasha knows she’s not some sort of super-hero villain but sometimes it feels like she could be, like at one point in her life she was on the precipice of un-saveable and to be around people so kind and unassuming brings those feelings back by tenfold. She never even considers not visiting, though, because Clint’s kids call her _Aunt Nat_ and his wife seems to have a seemingly endless supply of advice, always supplying without Natasha ever needing to ask. 

 

Otherwise, Natasha spends her time trying to learn to be normal. She bleaches her hair, dyes it red, bleaches it again, and dyes it jet black — only partly because she’s still on the run. On Saturday mornings she shops for the week's groceries, pays in cash, and then she goes home to meal prep for the rest of the week. Her neighbour, an old woman named Margaret Harris, relentlessly offers cookies and bits of cake and sometimes whole bags of chips (“Too fatten you up,” says Margaret, with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes) and sometimes Natasha accepts the treats.

 

She never buys a television for her tiny, New York City apartment, nor does she buy a cellphone. On nights when there is nothing else to do, Natasha climbs into her bed of soft blankets and silk sheets and settles down with a book and her imagination. Other nights, Natasha sits on the roof of her building, idly watching as the city falls into a deep slumber.

 

But, well, she takes to reading the newspaper with a coffee (one cream, no sugar) every morning. It feels good to be updated on the current events of the world after months of self-imposed solitude. Natasha is immensely grateful, though, for those months because she learns to take joy in being prepared for the weather and the thrill and pride in knowing the comings-and-goings of New York’s sports teams. She never truly understood what the joy of ignorance, of blissful uneventfulness had been until she was finally able to live an ignorant and blissfully uneventful life. Her existence was simple and life-changing decisions non-existent.

 

Then, Natasha wakes up and gathers her jet-black hair into a ponytail. She brushes her teeth and splashes water on to her face. The water is just a bit too cold, it's refreshing. The mirror reveals a young woman, with well rested and bright eyes. She allows herself the luxury of a brief smile in front of the mirror, a bit of vanity to begin the morning. Natasha pulls on a black tank-top and jeans and counts out exactly six dollars before heading down to the Starbucks just down the block.

 

There’s a boy named Daniel who hands out the newspaper every morning. Natasha hands him one dollar and a thank-you. She pays five dollars for the coffee at Starbucks with little regard for the absurdity of it all because she just — just really enjoys the coffee. 

 

It’s only when she sits down that Natasha notices the front page of the newspaper. It’s Tony — Ironman — flying side-by-side with Spider-Man. The title: _Queens’ Newest Avenger?_

 

-

 

Peter Parker, surprisingly, looks a lot like Tony. He has brown hair and brown eyes and similar bone structure. His eyes are wider and lips are thinner, but the essence of Tony Stark lives on in his features. He’s wearing a t-shirt with a chemistry joke on it and jeans that look just a few years too old. The clothes don’t look like the clothes of the ultra-rich, though. Natasha can’t quite reconcile the boy’s shared features with Tony and his obvious lack of money. Honestly, Natasha doesn’t know much about the boy — seeing as nearly any and all information on him has been wiped from the internet — that, if anything, had been the biggest indicator to Natasha that the boy, Peter, was inextricably connected to Tony.

 

His eyes wander slightly, over the crowd of parents and cars and students before settling on Natasha. Goosebumps rise up on her arms as Peter makes eye-contact. Really, Peter shouldn’t be seeing Natasha the way that he is. He shouldn’t. She’s somewhere in the shadows, baseball cap tipped forward — largely unseeable, in the way that she's been taught to be. 

 

They both pause. Peter smiles, a bit. It's vacant, though, like he's thinking about other things. 

 

In a rush, Peter is suddenly heading over to a black Audi without a license plate. He makes eye contact one last time with Natasha as he steps into the car — not scared or calculating, mostly curious, and smiles that vacant smile once more. It doesn’t matter, though, because Natasha knows that car, who it belongs to, and she also has an inkling about where Peter is heading for his after-school activities.

 

-

 

She doesn’t mean to meddle, but that night while Natasha is sitting on the roof of her apartment, Spider-Man comes swinging across the city. She sees him from about a mile or two away, but she never hears him, even as he approaches. Peter moves gracefully through the air and moves with untold and, likely, unused power. Natasha stands up.

 

Tony had forgone the selling of his tower, nearly a year ago. She wonders if it was because of this boy.

 

“Hey,” says Peter, landing a little out of breath just in front of Natasha. “You were at my school, right?.”

 

Natasha nods, watching as Peter’s hands fidget at his sides.

 

“You’re the Black Widow,” says Peter. He sounds like he’s smiling underneath the mask. But then, it seems as though Peter makes a decision because just seconds later Natasha is actually treated with a view of Peter’s smiling face. He shrugs, says, “You did see me at school. I don’t really think it matters anymore, right? Anyway, I’m a really big fan. You’re very pretty.” Peter smiles bashfully. “And capable.”  

 

His lack of self-preservation is startling but Natasha finds herself endeared by the boy anyway. She waits, feeling as though Peter will probably talk himself to his point eventually.

 

Peter says, “I just want you to know that I definitely already told Mr. Stark about seeing you at school. Just so you know. Like literally right after. So, if you're uncomfortable just say right now. He said it was cool if I talked to you — oh, and he’s definitely listening to our conversation right now. I don’t know. He said it was cool to talk to you but sometimes when he feels like I’m being stupid, like right now, he uses the baby-monitor thing.”

 

It’s really sweet, actually.

 

Natasha decides that this is all probably worth a smile.

 

-

 

Natasha lives a simple life.

 

She finally buys a phone and keeps a playlist of sixteen eighties songs that she sometimes dances to on warm summer nights. The apartment doesn’t have air conditioning, but it’s a fun way to keep up with her cardio and sometimes (more often than not) there is a little knock on her window, and a slightly out of breath Peter will be waiting outside, just itching to come in. The only other thing on Natasha’s phone, actually, is Peter’s phone number.

 

He dances like an old man, and so Natasha sometimes (more often than not) takes the time to teach Peter ballet. He takes to it like he apparently takes to everything — surprisingly well, given the circumstances. And so nearly once a week, Peter knocks on Natasha’s front door in tights and a tank top, smile firmly in place already. For his birthday, Natasha buys Peter a new pair of ballet shoes and takes him out to dinner with May. She pays, and flirts with May just to see Peter blush. 

 

He beams. And Natasha understands why Tony cancelled all of his moving plans, and completely disregarded all of his fears about having children, and clothed and fed this boy almost without a second thought — because some days she thinks that she would gladly die for Peter.

 

-

 

Just days before, Peter cries in Natasha’s bedroom and her bathroom and her living room. He keeps saying, “Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Nat, please, something's wrong.”

He’s pleading and crying and clutching at Natasha’s clothes, far closer than Natasha typically allows people to be. This isn't the first time that Natasha has heard Peter cry but it is the first time that it has hurt so, so bad to listen to. Soon, tears are dripping down her face and onto Pete’s soft bed of hair. She’s helpless. And it hurts.

 

-

 

Clint is fighting Natasha because he loves her. He loves her fiercely and he’s loved her for ages. He’s Natasha’s oldest friend, and her, his. Vaguely, Natasha wonders how many fights have gone exactly like this, how many best-friends have fought for the right to kill themselves. 

Oh god, Natasha can't think about what she's doing — but she already had her happy ending with Peter and her ignorant and uneventful life; dancing to eighties songs in a too-hot apartment with a child who she loved. 

Clint's feelings are nothing compared to the way that Natasha loves Clint. She loves Clint and his children and his wife — and she loved Peter. She loved Peter with the heart of a mother. To have him ripped away so brutally — well, call Natasha selfish but she can have everything she's ever wanted and it just seems so worth it — even if she won't get to be here to experience the majesty of it all. 

 

This — this is something Natasha can do for Peter and for Clint.

 

Anyway, she’s learnt to enjoy her time in the world.

 

-

 

Natasha wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys !!!! this fic won't necessarily be chronological lol but i'm really enjoying the build up and also the chance to explore all of these characters - especially cause i've never written any of these characters before. ummm.... i hope you enjoyed this, please leave a comment if ya did :) !!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> (also ma puce = my flea, technically, but it's also a lil term of endearment)


	3. récupérer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bruce looks after his friend.

Bruce puts an IV in Tony’s arm and then, puts Tony to bed with gentle hands and a kiss on the forehead. He thinks idly of Peter, the rather elusive boy who Bruce only had the pleasure knowing briefly, and the pain that Tony will feel when he wakes. In the interim, however, Bruce smooths down the heating blanket over Tony and says a little prayer to nobody in particular as he rests on a chair by his bedside. 

It had quickly become apparent that everyone on the team except for Tony and Natasha remember and Bruce just can’t figure out whether or not it was kind to leave Tony with a loss so new, so grievous, or if it would have been crueller to leave either party with the feeling of death on the tip of their tongues. He doesn’t think that Peter ever would have done it intentionally, not if he truly understood the hurt it would wreak upon Tony, but Bruce understands that the naivety of childhood means that sometimes it’s impossible to truly empathize with the magnitude of all of the grief and love that come with parenthood. 

Before, nobody understood the loss that Tony came stumbling back to earth bearing, and so their ignorance wasn’t intentional — but it was harmful, and Bruce had the misfortune of seeing Tony tear himself and the Avengers to pieces while attempting to process the loss of a child.

Of course, everyone in the world lost someone, but it seemed that no one felt so guilty for it as Tony. And it wasn't Tony’s fault, it’s not anybody’s fault — but if it had to be somebody it would be Tony and so he bore that fault like it was his own. He bore the fault the way any parent would if their child had fallen to pieces in their arms.

Bruce runs a hand through Tony’s hair, gently pulling at knots from weeks and weeks ago. 

So now, they kiss him and cosset him and argue quietly while he rests about who has to tell Tony about Spider-Man. Bruce can hear the hushed and horrified whispers clearly through the thin walls of the one bedroom in the medbay, no one wants to be the one to break Tony more than he already has — it’s alright, though, because Bruce will tell Tony, he was always going to be the one to tell Tony. He’s reasonable and generally kind and also, so soft-spoken that injuring Bruce would be a guilt-ridden activity. And in the end, Tony loves Burce enough that he's almost sure he won’t lash out too harshly, or at least not in Bruce’s direction. 

Bruce loves Tony too. He loves Tony the way that he loves all of his friends. He loves him even though Tony has walls so high that it sometimes feels he’s completely locked himself away — and he loves Tony more for the way that he knocked down all of his walls for a boy with brown eyes and brown hair and a heart so strong he could wield the infinity stones. Fatherhood, or whatever it was, always looked good on Tony. 

Bruce sighs. He can’t imagine a life without Tony or a life without Natasha, nevertheless a life without either soul. And he hates that this is what it came down to, but in the end he’s more than glad that Peter let himself drift away. It’s a selfish contentment, because Bruce never really had a lot waiting for him anywhere in the universe — just science and sometimes Thor and often Tony and for-the-most-part Natasha, so it's not like he lost irrecoverably. But still, he lost some of the people that were there for him or the Hulk for the most part, and Bruce feels so, so glad that he gets another chance to appreciate those people.   

Anyways, Peter obviously possess equal if not greater amounts of the same grit and determination to aid and repair which drives every single Avenger, and Bruce isn’t sure that anything could have stopped him from grasping for his happy ending. It was the same sort of drive that made Tony snap, knowing that he'll likely die. 

Bruce smooths a hand over Tony’s hair and tries not to wonder about what, biology or something else, made Peter strong enough to hold all of the infinity stones without any injury. If Tony wasn’t right in front of him looking as desolate as this entire damned year, Bruce would be buzzing with the sort of curiosity that fuels any scientist worth their money because it  _ shouldn’t  _ be __ possible — even Loki, a god, had used an instrument to conduct the power of the infinity stones. Peter, a mostly-human boy, should never have even been able to pick up one stone, nevertheless an entire handful, and then wield them with the grace that he had. Bruce squashes that curiosity for the moment, though, it feels dreadfully inappropriate.                   

An hour passes and Bruce falls asleep with his head leaning off the back of the shitty, plastic chair that someone had dragged into this bedroom. He’s briefly awoken by Tony, shaking and mumbling vaguely and so Bruce forces his eyes open despite the fatigue which begs him to fall back into the non-comfort of hard plastic. He drags a hand over Tony’s forehead and smooths out the worry. 

Tony took five years to recover, before. Five years to learn happiness again and then, to die. 

 

-

 

Tony swears and throws a lamp against the wall after having ripped his IV out of his arm. There's blood on his sleeve and the IV line is slowly emptying onto the floor and the lightbulb from the lamp lies broken on the ground, glass shards littering the area and sparkling in the now dim light provided by the lamp just to Bruce's right. He’s panting and shaking and Bruce knows that he doesn’t have much left in his system so he idles by the door, wondering where the rest of the team disappeared to, and waits to catch Tony as he inevitably falls. The drip of the IV fluid on to the floor is the only sound for a moment and Tony finally screams with rage and grief. 

He turns to Bruce with wild and teary eyes and says, “He was my  _ kid _ . He was my fucking  _ kid  _ and  I loved him. He was my kid, Bruce. He died in my arms.” It sounds like Tony is sounding out the words in his mouth, trying his best to comprehend the meaning, but his grief clogs his throat, and his lips wobble with the threat of tears. He says, "You're telling me that all of you let him go again? He's the only fucking good thing I've ever had or done and you all let him _go_." 

Bruce doesn’t know what to say in response to that, so he opens his arms and Tony falls into them, sobbing and hiccuping. 

This is much harder than it was the last time. It was easier to ignore Tony’s pain. It was easier to pretend that Tony was the crazy one for grieving so outwardly and loudly about something that hurt him. So, this time, Bruce hugs Tony tightly because he’s lost in waters far too wild and emotional to think about becoming anything more useful. He whispers, “Tony, Tony, Tony — it’s okay, it’ll be okay.” 

It doesn’t feel okay. It didn't feel okay the last time either. Bruce doesn’t even know if he believes his own words but he hopes that they don’t sound too hollow.  

And when Tony’s knees finally give out, Bruce catches him and awkwardly drags him back to bed. He replaces the IV line with gentle hands and tucks in the blanket, once again. Bruce sets himself back down into the uncomfortable chair, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back. 

He says, “Tony, I know you don’t really want to hear anything like this, uh, but Peter gave us one hell of a chance. And you fixed this all before, I know you don’t remember, but you fixed it all. Before. So, uh, once you’re better… we’ll fix this. Together, this time.”

Tony looks at Bruce with tears in his eyes and blinks a few times. He says, “I’m going to fucking kill myself if this doesn’t work out.” 

Bruce doesn’t tell Tony that the last time this happened, he drank himself half to death on antibiotics and painkillers and vodka. It’s not as though it would help now anyway. 

Bruce smooths Tony’s hair down and decides to wait for Tony to fall asleep before he goes to find the rest of the team.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyy there it's ya girl and i had a concussion for the last little while soooooo here's the chapter, hope you liked it, and i hope that mr bruce banner wasnt too out of character, i wrote it very quickly lmao
> 
> please leave a kudos/comment to tell me what u think!


	4. Ma raison d'etre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony lies on his bed and thinks about the joys of hugging the ones that he loves

Peter tells Tony later that he had a panic attack in his bedroom following Tony’s grand and somewhat heavy-handed entry into his life. He mentions it offhandedly during a Monday night lab session and in the same breath, he lightly tears apart Tony’s newest schematic for a new, nanoparticle suit. Peter’s good at making terrible things sound light-hearted, like that. He sandwiches the bad in between quips and questions as if Tony doesn’t know that Peter anxiously plans for the dispersal of his negative feelings in the same way generals plan for wars, and as if Tony doesn’t listen all the more carefully for what Peter has to say, just in case. 

 

Honestly, Peter’s proclivity for lies of omission and then semi-desperate attempts to air out his feelings in a fashion so as not to burden his nearest-and-dearest is sweet, if a little odd and frustrating. In the end, the solution is simple - Tony quietly has Pepper clear his schedule on Saturdays and then - well, Peter just becomes a fixture in the Stark household, slotting himself in between Tony and Pepper as if he'd always had a spot in their little family. He comes over Friday nights after school, he does his homework on the kitchen counter as Pepper and Tony go about the business of creating a meal to satiate a teenage superhero’s insatiable hunger. And then at the end of the night, or whenever Tony and Peter come up from the lab, Peter falls asleep in his room with his clothes, and shampoo, and posters, and backpack, and desk. He leaves his backpack lying around in the penthouse, steals Tony's sweaters - he makes their somewhat cold penthouse looked lived in and loved simply by existing, and other times: decorating fastidiously for holiday. 

 

That night in the lab, after Peter’s omission of an event which Tony is almost sure extends beyond a single panic attack, Tony reaches over gruffly and pulls Peter in tight with a one-armed hug, and then holds on even tighter when Peter turns around and relaxes fully into Tony’s chest. He feels the bones and muscles of Peter's back. He feels his warmth and smells Pepper's strawberry shampoo in his hair. He feels his kid breathe in deeply, chest moving up and then down, before melting further into the embrace. Tony allows himself a small smile into Peter’s hair, resolving to hold on until Peter’s arms start to loosen. 

 

They share a good moment together, that day. 

 

Peter learns that it’s okay to drape himself over Tony’s back, despite Tony’s mostly superficial protests. And he learns that Tony and Pepper always have space in their massive bed for when he has nightmares. And Tony learns that Peter favours pancakes with, frankly, an inordinate amount of chocolate chips. Pepper ruffles Peter's hair when she walks back into the penthouse after work, and sometimes Peter will pull her into a hug to say hello. In June, Peter gifts Tony a father’s day card and mug with a blush running from his forehead to his neck, all the while mumbling something about father-figures and then they’re caught up in a hug that seems like it lasts forever, Tony’s lips pressed into Peter’s hair, eyes closed, hoping for the moment to last forever. 

 

It doesn't - at most the hug lasts for five minutes. It was better-than-good while it lasted. 

 

He tells this to Pepper late at night, turning over with a half crazed look in his eyes, and whispered confessions of love and affection and fondness defying words and - 

 

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

 

It sort of feels like nothing matters anymore. 

 

The hug didn't last, and Tony should have known better than to get attached. He doesn't get good things. Doesn't get almost-children. Doesn't get to have a family and be a father after all of the fucked up things he's done and had done to him. 

 

Peter is gone. And all of the anger in the world can't replace that fact. 

 

Tony lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling and feels the sedative in his bloodstream; it makes thought-making a hazy and uninformed process, and Tony quickly finds himself stuck in the rut of imagining and remembering what his first and last hugs with Peter felt like. He, quite purposely, doesn’t look at his hands, which still feel chalky and stale with the remnants of Peter's ashes. And he doesn’t think about the long days and nights on that damned alien ship, long days and nights where he sat catatonic, watching space and stars, feeling the ash become part of his skin and nail-beds, but unable to do anything but stare ahead and feel desperately sad. 

 

Peter had drawn back from the hug, with shiny eyes and palpable relief in his posture, still leaning slightly against where Tony had a hand on his shoulder. He smiled shyly, and - 

 

Or how Tony had bruises on his shoulders for days, where Peter had gripped and pleaded for life - and how he knows that even in the midst of dying, Peter had been holding back, still considerate, he could have broken Tony's bones while breaking his heart but - 

 

Or how it’s so much worse, because this bedroom used to unofficially be Peter’s when he needed a place to rest with broken bones or concussions, when he was too tired to make his way over to the elevator. It’s so much worse because Tony has kissed and hugged and stitched and soothed wounds in this room, he’s filled this room with so many kind and reassuring words, and - 

 

Tony feels tears washing his face, but his arms are too weak to brush them away. He longs for the past and his kids and for a team that cares. 

 

_Peter’s eyes shine when he turns to look at Tony. He’s smiling a bit, eyes darting from Tony to the floor. He says, “You’re really nice to me, Mr. Stark. Really nice. Might even make me get you a father’s day card.”_

 

_Tony laughs and scratches the back of his neck. Still, he doesn't know how to handle himself during intense, emotional discussions. He says, "I'm not trying to replace your - you know."_

_"Yeah," says Peter. He's watching Tony with a little furrow in between his eyebrows. "I know that."_

 

_Tony raises his eyebrows, but smiles nonetheless._

_Earnestly, Peter says, "I mean it. I know you know this but you mean the world to me, Mr. Stark. It's hard for me to feel like the people in my life are gonna like - you know - stick around but with you it's just like, you're my parent. Or something. Sorry. But you know? You always help me, even when you're annoyed or busy, and you always have time for me, and I just." Peter scrubs at his eyes, looking flustered but determined. "I care about you a lot, okay? So shut up."_

 

_Tony doesn't point out that he hasn't really said anything at all, instead opting to pull Peter into a hug._

_(Neither of them can say it, the "I love you", but that's fine. Tony is more than aware that they both have their own childhood trauma to work through before that. They're both capable enough to read between the lines, anyways.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES it's been a long time lmao. i just started uni this year and im busy as hell but uhhhhhhhhhhhhh here u go enjoy please

**Author's Note:**

> woahhhhh my first marvel fic !!!!!!!!! pleease let me know if you liked it, cause by golly i sure did lmao. but also i had like. no idea at all how to tag it


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